You're Homesick, Give Me Your Hand & I'll Hold It
by truglasgowgal
Summary: His best friends are his family and if he doesn't have that, what does he have? ... Post 5x20, because it needed to be done ... NJBC and CL and pretty much all other ship combos to satisfy the majority.


That last ep created all sorts of ~feelings and I needed an outlet and I miss NJBC and CB and CL and my current fic isn't cutting it (at least not quickly enough lol) and I really just want B to realise she needs her friends and that they need her and vice versa, so I bid you goodnight with this fic :)  
This _should_ be pretty suitable for all really, so I hope you enjoy…

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**Title:** If You're Homesick, Give Me Your Hand And I'll Hold It  
**Disclaimer:** I own nowt, nada, nothing! If I did the show would probs be even more crack-a-riffic than it is now, who am I kidding? Alas, I don't, so it's not. More's the pity. Title from the Birdy version of the song 'People Help The People'.  
**Summary:** His best friends are his family and if he doesn't have that, what does he have? Post 5x20, because it needed to be done. NJBC and pretty much all other ship combos to satisfy the majority.

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"_A definition of friendship in one word would be: needed."  
__**Unknown**_

.

She doesn't know how she can go to him after this: after she turned him away and accused him of an advance he never followed through on; but she knows she has to.

It's not a matter of choice; he doesn't own her and she doesn't owe him, she just has to do this.

It's about remembering who she is.

(It's about knowing that he needs her.)

Blair Waldorf is there for her friends when they need her.

(Except she isn't; not lately at least, anyway.)

.

"How is he?" is the first thing she asks when she answers his call.

"Not good," he tells her honestly and chances a look back to where his best friend sits lifeless on the couch, staring intently at the opposite wall, at the window, at the darkness that is threatening to pull him into oblivion if he doesn't hold on, resist, get a grip on the life he has out-with its reign.

"What can I do?" she asks of him instantly and he can feel her sense of urgency to act reflected in his own restless pacing, the churning in his stomach, the repetitive, but ultimately useless clench-unclench of his fist by his side.

He can feel her desperate want to help as if it can permeate through the walls of her apartment to his, floating across the city on all the tethers they've left there of themselves.

Nate breathes out a sigh of quiet relief that he knows is premature, but he's filled with the hope of what's to come anyway. He knew when he pressed her number on speed-dial that she'd understand; that she'd know what he needed.

"Can you come over?" he asks in return, "He hasn't said a word since Diana left. He's just been sitting there staring at the wall. He's not even touched his drink."

"I'm leaving now," she tells him and he can hear her moving to do just that.

"Serena?" he says, before she ends the call in her haste to reach them, breathes out with the sound of her name on his lips, "Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me, Nate, this is for Chuck, and you asked," she says it like it's the most natural thing in the world and in their world it is; even if lately it feels like it's only applied to three quarters of their whole. "It's what friends do for each other; they're there, whenever they're needed."

He nods; finds himself smiling, wishes things were like they used to be, when this was true all of the time.

.

"Blair?" he asks, voice heavy and sight blurry in direct correlation to the time of his waking.

"I – I need to go," she manages to respond, and he can see in the rationed light that manages to escape the tyranny of her black-out curtains that she's ditched her night-mask to emerge from the bathroom ashen-faced and shivering slightly.

He sits up and she can see his frown outlined by the thick sketch of his eyebrows and his hair that is even more unruly by night than by day.

"What's wrong?" he asked, troubled; as any good boyfriend should be when his girlfriend is standing shaking in the center of her bedroom, clutching her phone to her chest in the dark and looking like she just let the world slip between her fingers and now it lies in pieces at her feet.

"I need to go," she repeats, and the look she casts his way then is one he's seen from her before, but he can't quite place it and it worries him.

Suddenly she's spinning around and going directly to her closet. Immediately rifling through the racks to find some clothes to put on, she becomes so frustrated in her haste to get away, to get to him, that she decides to forgo an outfit change and instead grabs a coat and shoes and stomps determinedly back through the open doorway.

He's up and out of the bed and standing in front of her, hands on her upper arms stopping her from leaving as soon as she steps over the threshold back into her room.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere," he tells her, soft but unwavering, and she knows he doesn't mean it possessively, he's just concerned about her. It shows in the worry-lines he's too young and privileged to have, in the hands that press down on the tremors of her bones, in words that follow like a plea he shouldn't have to give and she shouldn't have to hear, "Not until you tell me what's going on. I thought we agreed we were in this together. Come on, Blair, I can help. I want to help."

She knows he does and she's grateful for that, _really_, but she needs to do this and there is no place for him with them.

Finally she finds her voice.

"No," she tells him, resolute, completely sure of herself and what she's about to do, "I need to go. Alone. I need to do this."

"Go where? Do what?" he quizzes her, eyes crinkled as his eyebrows bunch together and if this were any other time she'd likely giggle and then raise her own at the sight and tell him she's scheduling him a wax for that caterpillar attempting to crawl across his face and he'd roll his eyes, but probably go along with her anyway. Except it's not, it's now and she can't be here, can't be with him when she should be with _him_.

"Just trust me," she says, it's all can give him. To let her do this, not to try and stop her. To believe in her like he claims to believe in them.

"Why?" he questions at that, but he's not supposed to and it throws her. He's just supposed to listen to her and take her at her word and _trust her_.

"I – "

She doesn't tell him. Even though it's on Gossip Girl and he'll likely see it for himself soon, if he hasn't already (she doesn't let the thought of him keeping it from her gain any footing in her mind lest it be the first of many strings that start to unravel beyond what they can cope with and still remain whole) she still doesn't tell him. Because it's not about Chuck finding out Diana's his real mother; it is, but it's not. It's about what happened last time with Elizabeth. It's about how he spent his whole life believing he killed his mother. (It's about him needing her.) It's about being Blair Waldorf and being there for her friends when they need her.

She lifts her head, turns to look at the silhouette of him standing before her in her bedroom in the sky and simply says, "Chuck."

Then she turns and walks out, leaving him to stand alone in her empty castle in the clouds as she sets out on a journey to the tall, dark tower that may still hold the power to make or break her dreams.

And the look he'd seen in her eyes? Clarity.

.

"We're going out," Serena says decisively, and looks between her two best friends with a wide smile as she claps her hands together at the decision made.

In response to her enthusiasm, Chuck leans forward to place his tumbler down on the table, rises from his seat and then walks right by both of them towards his room without uttering a word.

The elevator sounds and the doors open to reveal a brunette they used to think they knew before her actions of late seemed to preach otherwise. But it's Blair and they're _them_ and what are they supposed to do? This is how it's mean to be: the four of them, together.

"Blair," Nate acknowledges.

"What are you doing here?" Serena asks.

"I… " she looks between them all and then finds the words she intended to bestow upon them at her arrival, had likely been practicing the whole journey over and the entire elevator ride up, "I saw the Gossip Girl blast. "

In the centre of their distraction, Chuck alters his path and moves to the elevator instead, slipping soundlessly inside.

His best friend sees him first and calls out to him. Serena joins, and Blair rotates on her heels to see him standing there staring back at her, but he's silent, stoic.

The blonde grabs her coat and bag and chases after Nate who's already standing by Chuck's side, stopping to squeeze Blair's elbow and look to her as she prompts, "You are coming with us, right?"

"Where else would I be going?" she answers, irritated at any insinuation or assumption to the contrary.

There's an answer to that none of them will voice, but it's palpable as she glides through the elevator doors with seconds to spare before they're entombed in the space with only each other.

When she readjusts her stance, feet pressed together, head facing forward; she keeps her chin up and stares purposefully into the silver surface before her.

He lifts his head and she finds herself looking into the reflection of his eyes, and she feels her throat threaten to close up with the pressure of a boa constrictor on her insides; stealing the breath from her as it plunges its teeth in and doesn't let go, ensures she'll be a witness to everything that goes on in his life from here on out.

She can't look away (she won't), but if she continues any longer she doesn't know how long she'll survive, until somewhere in the midst of her inner battle she finds she can breathe again.

She blinks, expecting to find him matching her gaze for gaze, but he continues to stare blankly ahead, and she realizes what's really got her so unsettled: it's not that he won't meet her eyes, it's that she can't decipher if there's no emotion in them, or simply too much.

She used to know him better than that.

She used to know him better than he knew himself.

But then, he used to know her better than she knew herself too.

She wonders if he can still recognize her.

(Sometimes she can't even recognize herself).

.

"Ok, first thing's first," Serena announces and opens Chuck's liquor supply with a flourish, pulling out two bottles and triumphantly holding them up to the group with a knowing grin. "Shots and champagne!"

She rolls her eyes, though she should've been expecting that and Nate groans loudly and drops his head back against the headrest.

"And then we're going to our place and I'm going to get you something to wear, B," the blonde adds decisively, already pouring the measures into the various glasses.

"Why exactly are you going up to my apartment and selecting an outfit for me to wear?" she inquires haughtily, coordinating the words with a raised eyebrow.

"_Our _apartment," the blonde rephrases with a pout as she hands her a shot glass and then seems to take added pleasure in pointing out, "And because you're wearing _that_ and we're going to a club and not even telling people you're _Blair Waldorf_ will get them to think that sort of sleepwear is suitable."

She glares at her with a look that warns _don't go there_; so naturally Serena ignores it and does exactly that.

"Of course if you'd been wearing one of your slips…" her best friend trails off with a wink and a cluck of the tongue, "_that _would be a different story entirely."

Blair chances a look at Chuck, but she needn't have bothered, he's not looking at any of them.

Nate shakes his head at the girls as Serena falls back against the seat giggling, plucking another couple of shot glasses from the counter and handing them both to him.

He nudges Chuck, who turns slowly to look at him and wordlessly takes the shot from him and dutifully waits for what his sister has planned next.

"To us!" Serena shouts, and then tips the contents into her mouth.

The others follow suit and the blonde collects the glasses with as much gusto as she'd exhibited when she'd first presented them to the group, refilling them and redistributing them and crying out the same toast with the same thrust of her fist into the air and the same laughter that follows as before.

When they've consumed three shots in eight minutes under the battle cry of one; she's certain: whatever happens, this night will be one to remember.

.

"Serena!" Dan calls out to her, rushing out as she completes her stumble up the stairs and onto the landing.

"Oh," she frowns, squints at him as he stands in the doorway of her best friend's room, "You're still here."

"Of course I'm still here," he frowns, and her presence in place of his girlfriend's absence has him spouting out the questions, "Why wouldn't I be? Where else would I be?"

"I dunno. I just thought… Brooklyn?" She shrugs, doesn't have to feign disinterest when her mind is genuinely on other things and as fuzzy as they may already be, the one constant through it all, the one matter that is highlighted at every stage, is that this is for Chuck. She's here for him; she's doing this for her brother.

"Is that where Blair's gone?" he catches onto that instantly, and then frowns, his mouth pulled tight around the words, "Is that where Chuck is?"

"What?" she asks, her own face scrunching up at this; because why would _Chuck _be in _Brooklyn_? Especially after what happened tonight? She realizes she's said exactly this to the very person she maybe shouldn't, but instead of stopping, she punctuates it with the scoffed words, "No, Dan, Chuck is _not _in Brooklyn."

"Oh," he voices, and there's some form of realization there, something that resonates with him; maybe he saw the Gossip Girl blast before she had a chance to retract it; maybe Blair told him about it. She's not sure whether she cares to know right now.

"He's downstairs," she says and she takes a step forward, scowling when he takes a step to the side to block her advance, "With Nate. And Blair," each point of information is accompanied by a move and a counter-move like they're playing a game of chess rather than her just trying to get him to _m_ove _out of her way_ so she can get in and get out and get back to her friends, "I'm just up here getting her an outfit and then we can go."

"Where are you going?" Dan questions, and then for some reason thinks it's a good idea to tell her, "I'm coming with you," as if she'll actually allow that, nevermind what the others would say or do in response to him crashing their party.

Serena laughs, and really? What did he expect? "No, you're not, Dan," she responds, and then she takes his sudden stationary position as opportunity to nudge by him into her best friend's room.

He follows after her as she saunters into Blair's closet and starts to scour the racks for a dress to match the shoes she had picked out before she even stepped inside. She knows her best friend's closet almost as well as she knows her own.

"Well at least tell me what's going on, what Blair's doing, if she's ok?" he says

She throws him a condescending look over her shoulder. "Right, because we, her _best friends_, are currently kidnapping her because we want to _harm _her, but know her well enough to allow her a wardrobe-change before we do it?"

She rolls her eyes at him and turns back to the rows of clothes that lie before her for her choosing and hers alone.

She smiles when she sees it, tucked away between enough material from the evening gowns to attempt to hide its existence entirely. Except Serena has always been able to spot a sexy little number and she's never met a short dress she didn't like; that includes when it's being worn by her best friend.

She plucks it from the rail and spins round, holding it in front of her, close enough to her frame so that Dan can see just how short it is on her; for a long enough length of time so that Dan can realize it won't be much longer on Blair. His girlfriend. When she's in a club. With Serena and Nate and _Chuck_. The blonde can see the scenarios running through his mind and a tiny part of her takes pleasure in it; it feels _good _to make him feel even a smidgen of the hurt he rained down on her.

She can practically feel him judging her and it bugs her; she's already feeling ten-times more sober since she started to attempt to climb the stairs, she's definitely going to need a drink (or five) when she gets back in the limo.

She bends down, scoops the heels up in her tight grasp and releases a breathy laugh at the head-rush she's treated to when she straightens back up.

He's still watching her when she opens her eyes and she heaves a sigh.

"Look Dan," she blinks and wets her lips before she explains, "Blair's our best friend, and right now my brother needs his best friends. So we're taking him out so he can try and forget what happened tonight, if only for a little while, and remind him that we'll always be here for him."

He opens his mouth, but it's premature because she's not quite done yet and she's yet to see the skepticism leave his face.

"Blair included," she adds with a pointed look, "Just because you're dating her now doesn't mean that's going to change. We've always been there for each other, and we're always going to be there for each other."

She shrugs, gives him a mildly sympathetic look, because _fine_, so maybe she can understand why he'd be worried and that it might be a _tad _unfair to leave him like this when they're all out there dancing in the lights of the city and prepared to try anything with a proof well into the double figures.

They're the Non-Judging Breakfast Club, though; nothing's going to change that.

"You're just going to have to accept that," she tells him, shrugs; because frankly how this is in any way negotiable is beyond her, "No matter what happens, this is always going to be how it is, how we are. We're best friends."

And because he can't help it, because deep down he will always be a good guy who knows better than they should be able to claim to, because he was raised by a mother and father who were involved and gave a damn, in a stable loving home with a close support unit around him; he nods and goes through the motions of not only processing this but making moves to actually do as she says, to accept it.

"I hope Chuck's ok," he finally says and when she's stopped staring at him enough to realize he might genuinely mean it she nods, _accepts it_ and he adds, "And tell Blair… tell her I trust her."

She wants to retort with something sarcastic or biting like _I'm sure she'll be thrilled to have me tell her that _or even _that is so good to hear, Dan, I'm so happy for you_, but she doesn't.

Instead she stays silent, just takes it with a nod and walks out the door.

Maybe she's more like her brother than she realized.

.

It take a while for Serena to finally manage to convince Blair to change into the dress and shoes (and fix her hair and make-up and add accessories from the blonde's apparent bag of tricks. Seriously, Nate has no clue how she can fit so much stuff in there nevermind how she has the strength to carry it. She must have arms of steel.)

He's had enough alcohol while they've circled the blocks and glided along the streets in between that he starts to laugh at the image his mind conjures; of the blonde competing in a wrestling match, kitted out in bright gold embellished swimsuit-esque attire, her skin shimmering and her blonde hair tied in an elaborate up-do that seems to resemble a dumbbell on top of her head. And she's standing in front of an enormous crowd of fans who chant her name to the flex of her biceps while the wall behind her lights up with: 'Serena 'Arms of Steel' van der Woodsen' flashing over the moniker as the woman of the moment revels in the glory her abnormally strong upper limbs have provided for her.

He's laughing so much he nearly falls off the chair, making the brunette across from him turn sharply at the movement and tell him maybe he should lay off the liquor for a while.

Of course, the blonde next to her protests at this, loudly, emphasizing her point by producing another round of shots for them to consume once she's delivered her cheer (which is in serious danger of being overused already and they haven't even made it out of the limo yet).

When Serena asks him what still has him laughing so much, he's too busy doing just that to really think through what he's not supposed be doing; that is, telling her, which he does and suffers for it spectacularly.

She squeals her outrage around his name and hits him, repeatedly, knocking half of her drink over the pair of them in the process and splashing Blair's shoes, who naturally screams before the liquid's even made impact, and then joins in with the hitting of his delicate, and now painfully abused and victimized, body.

Amid all the chaos Nate thinks he might see Chuck crack a smile at his best friends. So that makes it all worth it.

.

"I thought this night was supposed to be for Chuck?" Blair mentions to a half-wasted Serena.

"It's for all of us," her best friend responds, like she should already know that. "We're one for all and all for one!"

Nate snickers. "That's the Three Musketeers, S."

"Well, there are three of us, so it fits." Serena shrugs, unperturbed and apparently unaware.

"Actually there's four," Nate corrects her with a cough and a nod to Blair that she can't tell is because he's uncomfortable or he's trying to be more subtle about the apparently glaring factor on all their minds. She's here. With them. Right now.

"Oh yeah," the blonde acknowledges, looking to her best friend with a lopsided, apologetic grin, "Sorry B."

The brunette sends her a tight smile in return.

"Although," Serena notes with a pout of her dusky-pink lips and a swish of her golden hair and her lithe arm now looped across Blair's shoulders, "You have abandoned us a lot lately, so you can't really blame my selective memory."

"I have not," she responds tartly, indignant and her expression says as much (even more exaggerated with the alcohol coursing through her veins than a normal production from the Blair Waldorf School of Dramatics).

"Uh, you kinda have," Nate agrees with the blonde by her side as he looks to her with the words.

"I've been with Dan," the brunette disputes, because they _know _this.

"Exactly," Serena replies, her finger wagging accusingly along the thin line of drunk and sober thought, "Too busy being _Dan's girlfriend_ to be _our best friend_."

"That's not fair," Blair mutters, but she already knows she's not going to win this argument.

"Well neither's how you've neglected the Non-Judging Breakfast-Club lately," the blonde points out, sulkily.

"But you've been my friends since forever," she protests and even in her alcohol-induced state she knows the argument is weak at best, but she continues because she's Blair Waldorf and she's stubborn like that, "Dan and I are new."

"Well _old you_ knew where her priorities lay," Serena says, only half-teasing, as the part of her that is still miraculously somewhat sober-_ish_ takes a more serious slant than the majority of her more _inebriated_ self, "You need to hang out with your best friends more, 'cos right now you sorta suck at that."

Nate slides another couple of shot glasses along the bar towards the girls with the rallying cry of "Drink up!"

"No, Nate!" Serena turns her attention to him suddenly; not at all impressed by the attempt to change what they've been doing together for so long now, "That's not the right one. You have to shout: _To us!_" she demonstrates, and follows it through by downing her drink, so he understands the concept she's explaining completely.

Blair pushes hers away with the declaration, "I think I've had enough."

The blonde turns to her with a frown, and like all things that are the opposite of sunshine and happiness, it detracts from the beauty of her best friend's face. "Aw, come on B, don't be like what."

"I'm not being like anything," she retorts, but even as she says it she's crossing her arms in front of her, putting distance between her position and the top of the bar, "I've decided I've had enough. I don't want anymore to drink."

"Come on, B, be the old Blair – the fun one, the one who I used to have to drag out to the club with me, but who'd end up having just as much fun as me when we got there _– if not more!_ Bring the old B back," Serena tells her, pouting even more now and tugging impatiently at her arm like that will magically transform her character to the more preferred version, "I miss her."

"Just take the drink, Blair," Nate says with a hint of cajoling doused in a total cavern of disinterest at getting involved in her drama right now.

"Please, B," Serena says then, softer, beseeching, "We need you; we can't be us without you. It's no fun, it's not the same."

"Fine," Blair finally relents, dramatically rolling her eyes at the blonde as she turns to face her while snatching up the shot.

She keeps her eyes on her best friend's, which are alight once more with glee and excitement and full of possibilities, and she empties the glass of its contents and slams it back down on the counter before turning in her seat, stepping to the floor and promptly stomping away.

.

She sits down in the booth next to him and they're hidden away one of the back corners of the club together. She wonders if he'll try something (wonders if she'll stop him if he does).

Chuck barely even spares her a glance as Blair huffs out a sigh and pushes back against the padded seating that encircles them. Serena comes rushing over then and he allows himself to be pulled out of his seat by the enthusiasm that has her unsteady on her feet and has him instinctively looping his arm around her waist and anchoring her with his presence at her side. She tries to lead him to the dance floor, but he directs them to the bar instead where he sets her down on a stool, and when the employees look to their boss as soon as he approaches, he taps the water gun so his instructions for them are clear.

Nate's standing in the place Serena left him, his arms thrown outwards and his mouth open and his eyebrows near his hairline. The blonde pouts at him across the space and shakes her head and he drops his hands to his sides, too buzzed and too familiar with this scenario to be truly disappointed or surprised at the foil in their plan.

He makes his way across to where Blair is and flops down in the space next to her, which his best friend vacated mere moments ago on the arm of a certain blonde. He leans his head back with a sigh and then rolls it to the side to look at her and stays like that for a whole minute. She counts, because it's disconcerting, not to mention irritating.

"You're not going to ask me who I am too, are you? Like my other traitorous best friend?" she scowls and then musters as much of a sneer as she can after the quantity of champagne and cocktails and shots she's consumed tonight and points it in the direction of the couple by the bar, "Tell me I've changed and I should resurrect the old Blair Waldorf because _apparently_ no one recognizes me now and I'm not as _good_ or as _fun_ anymore."

"If you're looking for a pity party, you should go somewhere else 'cos I am not gonna indulge you, Blair," he says to that, letting out a short laugh as he settles himself even further into the cushions.

When he looks back at her, she's glaring at him with thinly-veiled frustration and hurt; which he'd laugh at if it wasn't so typical of her to be self-absorbed. Maybe Serena has a point, because Blair's always been selfish, but she always made time for those that mattered. Apparently that's no longer the case. Or maybe they just don't matter anymore. That could be just as likely in her world, Nate thinks.

"I will say this, though," he offers her; "If the people that have known you your whole life don't recognize you, _maybe_ you should accept the fact you're not the same person you were before. And if your best friends don't like this new version or you, _maybe _you _should _resurrect the old Blair Waldorf," he shrugs, like this is advice she could've given herself and adds, "And then try to pretend this part of your life didn't exist, you know, where you forgot who you were and who your best friends are – but that's just a suggestion."

"Or _maybe _I should just find some new best friends," she mutters, because since when has _Nate _been one to give guidance? Apparently when she stopped paying attention to them.

"Funny," he comments, "Considering you didn't invite any of us to your party tonight, we could be forgiven for thinking you'd already replaced us."

He strides away without another word and walks straight towards the bar where his best friends both turn at his advance and the blonde duo immediately turn their matching smiles to the dark-haired creature in their midst.

Only it isn't an over-exaggerated façade to cheer him up or a mustered-up pretense to cover their true feelings; it's genuine. They're genuinely happy to have him by their side, to be with him.

She can't say the same for how they feel about her; and if she's honest, she can't really blame them.

She's still sulking when Serena appears before her, drinks in hand and prompts, "Are you done?"

The blonde nods to the outstretched hand containing the offering of a cocktail, and the brunette accepts it, albeit rather grudgingly.

"Look, B, you can either get up and come with us; remember that _no matter what _has happened in the past, we've always been there for each other. We can be the Non-Judging Breakfast Club and do our best to help our best friend," Serena lays out the options matter-of-factly, but her hand is waving around airily betraying the influence the liquor is actually having on her still, "Or you can go _home_ to Dan and Nate and I will stay with Chuck, and we'll _ply_ him with alcohol and do _everything_ we can think of to take his mind off what happened tonight and we'll _be there_ for him because he needs us right now and that's what we _do_ for each other."

The blonde shrugs stares the other down.

"It's your choice."

"Option A, make like we're all still best friends and everything's still the same between us and be there for Chuck for yet another family issue because his family has been nothing but awful to him," Blair responds in kind, "Or Option B, be branded a shitty friend and a shitty person and go home to my new boyfriend who is likely already imagining something suspect is going on here making me a shitty girlfriend too," her eyes widen dramatically as she exaggeratingly voices, "_Gee_, they're both just _so_ appealing, S, I don't know which to choose."

"If you think there's even a choice to make you have even bigger problems with your new personality than I realized," her best friend snipes.

"I was being sarcastic, Serena." She scowls, pushes herself to her feet and rounds the table to stride past the blonde with the comment, "Of course I'm coming with you."

Serena catches her by the elbow as they exit, before she can progress towards the open door of Chuck's limo where the boys wait for them inside.

"Just remember, tonight's not about you, Blair," the blonde tells her with a warning in her voice, "So stop trying to make like it is, and instead be the best friend I've always known you to be and help us be there for my brother."

Blair opens her mouth to retort, but it dies on her tongue before it even has the chance to take form before her lips, so she follows after Serena and doesn't say anything, takes her seat next to the blonde when they settle inside the car and accepts the next drink that's offered to her with a smile that widens as her best friend bumps hips with her and spills gleeful words in her ear, a world away from the display she'd shown only minutes prior (because it's ok for the blonde to shift character traits like a chameleon when she finds herself in a new environment, but it's a travesty as soon as Blair does the same).

And as she drinks and laughs and plays along with their drunken antics, all she can hear is Serena's last words to her before they rejoined their best friends and started the night all over again.

"There are some members of his family that will always care about him."

.

She catches him about to leave the club while they're all still inside and tries to stop him before he can all but sprint towards the unshielded night of the city like it's the only thing that will welcome him with open arms.

He merely brushes off her advances and rushes out of there like its stifling and he can't breathe; like it's all finally just become too much for him.

The man behind the wheel doesn't ask him where he wants to go, just does as he's supposed to and drives the boy billionaire through the city streets.

Arthur's been with him a long time and he's witnessed his young charge remain mute and damn near oblivious to his surroundings all night; where no amount of liquor or hilarity or encouragement from his best friends, even the girl whom he loves, managed to elicit a response. He knows exactly where to take Chuck.

.

She's already standing waiting when he stumbles out of the elevator and into what was once his family home.

"Oh Charles," Lily breathes out when she takes in the sight of her son, going straight towards him and engulfing him in her arms.

He clutches onto her tightly, but she can feel the exhaustion diffuse from his body to hers and she drops a fierce kiss to his head, holding him even closer in return so he doesn't have to.

When he finally allows himself to be detangled from her affectionate swathe, he looks down and she can tell he's feeling somewhat bashful; embarrassed at such an open display of what she imagines he believes to be weakness.

"You look like you're about to drop," she says, a soft chide at her child's lack of thought for himself wrapped in a smothering of motherly concern.

She leads him across the living room, sits him down and then gently maneuvers him until he complies with her intentions and is lying along the sofa.

He frowns and she anticipates his protest with her hands on his shoulders and a nudge him back down when he attempts to get up. She watches him with a knowing look and when she raises her eyebrow at him, silently asking if he wants to try that again he concedes defeat with a rueful smile.

He settles in against the pillows, tucking his arm under his head and slowly, finally, closes his eyes as the true extent of his tiredness starts to sink in. She sits with him until his breathing starts to even out, and then rises to return to her own bedroom; but the moment she starts to move away, his hand shoots out to stop her.

She gasps because he catches her by surprise and then laughs, to put his suddenly worried gaze at ease; because she should be better-versed in the practices of her oft-unruly children and their penchant for partying all night and sleeping all day to know when they've actually succumbed to slumber and when they're tiptoeing the cusp.

"Will you – ?" he cuts himself off, swallows, lifts his eyes to hers, and though he'd never beg he's as close as he'll ever come to it now; because her answer, it means everything, "Will you stay with me?"

Lily's eyes shine like Serena's and she smiles like Eric used to, and it's as if he's the Prodigal Son returning home to her, as she affectionately cups his cheek and then retakes her place next to him, her hand firmly clasped in his as she promises him, "Always."

.

"Mom?" Serena sends out into the space where her mother lives in a trepid wavelength of sound that captures the delicate balance between her concern for her brother and her urgency to ensure he's ok, the ever-present staccato of her resolve to help him noted above the rest.

"Serena," her mother turns to greet her with a smile, along with the one by her side, "Nathaniel."

"Is he ok?" the younger immediately asks, hurriedly approaching the elder, Nate matching her step-for-step.

Lily's sitting on the edge of the sofa, Chuck curled in on its length and into his mother's side, wrapped in a blanket and seemingly sleeping peacefully.

"Yes, he's ok. Although I imagine he's rather exhausted after everything he's had to deal with lately," she tells her daughter and then takes note of the brunette who's hanging back slightly, eyes fixated on the sleeping figure sheltered from her view by his mother's protective stance and the words, "Oh, Blair. How good of you to take an interest in Charles's wellbeing."

Lily turns back to her son and brushes the hair from his eyes, tucks the blanket firmer around him and they each try not to notice how impossibly _young _their best friend looks or to think of how much he's been through in all that time.

Blair can't help the thoughts from forming in her mind as she watches over him, because it's sobering to think how little he actually needed her tonight, somewhat unexpected that he didn't seem to need his friends at all, and yet they shouldn't have been surprised that who he actually needed was his mother.

And it is the words of his mother that throw the brunette back, cause a spark to fire and relight something within her: maybe at present he doesn't need her on her own to survive, but he still needs them in whatever way they can help him and she's part of that, part of them. They're her best friends. So right now that's what matters, because she's there for her friends when they need her; that's who she is. That's what makes her Blair Waldorf.

"I've had your beds made up for you," Lily directs at all three of the friends this time, looks to her sleeping child as she says, "You should all be here for him when he wakes up."

And they all agree, because that's the reason they came; to be there for him.

.

When Chuck wakes the next morning it is to the sound of laughter and familiar voices. He wipes the sleep from his eyes and rises from the couch, his fingers running through his hair as he pads across the floor towards the source of all the interest.

"Oh, you're awake," Lily greets him with a warm smile as she comes through to join them and he offers his cheek as she kisses him warmly, his arm instinctively moving round her as she embraces him, adding, "I trust you slept well."

He nods, murmurs, "Thank you."

She waves of his gratitude because when you're a mother it's your job to be there for your child when they need you. Sure, she may have been a little sketchy on that in the past, but where he is concerned, at least, she has never faulted him in that regard. She has always been there for him.

They eat in silence, but this time it's not because he doesn't have the words for them, it's because none of them need the words. There's smiles passed across the table and hands brushed side by side, childish giggles at the most ridiculous moments and kicks to shins that both do and don't quite meet their mark someone inevitably says the wrong thing. Except there's nothing they can say to one another that they likely haven't heard already, or thought to themselves; they've been best friends for life, it comes with the territory.

They're the Non-Judging Breakfast Club and when that joke is made there are the expected eye-rolls and anticipated groans and variations of _Oh my God, that was terrible_. In the end though it's true and after the laughter dies down, and the sentiment sinks in, they share smiles at the concept they created; they're four best friends who're there for one another whenever they're needed. It sounds simple enough, but it carries the weight of history on its back and paves the way for the future with every step they take together.

Really, it's everything.

.

They drop Blair back at her apartment, but Serena and Nate insist on escorting him all the way to the door of his bedroom. He indulges their need to help, but closes the door behind him. That doesn't stop them from calling out in various exaggerated tones what they think of his supposed gratitude after all they've done for him, or stop the chuckle from finding its way to settle on his tongue as he listens to his best friends continue to try and make him feel better any way they can.

Once inside he slides his hand into his blazer pocket, ghosting over the path hers made not long before, and pulls out the piece of card concealed within.

In a cursive he'd be able to recognize anywhere, it reads:

_**The Non-Judging Breakfast Club.**_

_**Best friends.**_

_**Family.**_

It's on the back of a photo of the four of them, taken during their last Thanksgiving dinner together. Naturally Humphrey had been nominated to stand behind the camera taking the picture rather than in front of it, sharing the moment with them (back when there was still a sense of somewhat normalcy around them and only Serena and Nate ventured across the Bridge to score dates; not so anymore.)

They're sitting on the couch together (because there were stark refusals at posing by the dinner table around all the food and place settings and such; they do have some class, after all), bunched up close with limbs draped across one another's and shared expressions of contentment on each of their faces.

He smiles despite himself, because no matter what has changed she'd still come with them last night; she'd remembered what it meant to be there for her friends (she'd remembered what it meant to Blair Waldorf).

And suddenly Lily's parting words to him make even more sense. At the time he'd thought she was simply referring to Diana, but now he knows she likely meant Blair as well.

She'd embraced him as he was leaving, holding him close and refusing to let him go until she'd told him, "So long as you know she's not the only family you have, Charles."

He'd pulled back enough to gift her with a small smile, genuine and rare and reserved solely for her, as he'd reminded her how they originally attained their positions and how they continue to sustain them now: "She might've given birth to me, Lily, but that doesn't change the fact that you were my mother first."

She'd smiled at him and laughed, looked set to burst into tears at his words. And he'd breathed out a slight chuckle while she had to look away, a hand to her mouth, the other to her chest.

"Oh Charles," she'd finally released, turning to cup his face in her hands, looking straight into his eyes and telling him fiercely, "Never forget you are loved, my son. Never."

He holds the image of his best friends in his hands and his mother's words in his mind and he knows in his heart they're true.

After everything they've done for him, for all the times they've been there for him, how could he possibly doubt their love?

They're his family.

.

"_Everything falls apart, my dear. The only thing permanent in life is family."  
__**Eat Pray Love**_

.

_**The End.**_

* * *

This had many different versions before I settled on this one – I may use the neglected content/dialogue elsewhere or make a completely new fic out of it, but then again I may just leave it where it is as a little exercise in relieving frustration at fictional characters I've grown far too attached to lol  
It was pretty preachy at some points, and as much as I want someone to call them all out on their shizz, that's not what I really intended for this fic, but then it was also wonderfully motivational in other parts so who knows maybe… ;)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed _this _version, and I thank you for taking the time to read (and even more in advance if you go any step further and leave me a comment or click favourite ;) )  
Steph  
xxx


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